As You Wish
by scullymurphy
Summary: It's Valentine's Day and the ministry has cooked up a new form of torture in the form of a mandatory 'Muggle Movie Valentine's Mixer'. Film character costumes are required and Hermione Granger is going as Princess Buttercup. Unbeknownst to her, her annoying(ly hot) co-worker Draco Malfoy is planning to go as the Dread Pirate Roberts. Snark, sparks and smut can only result...


_**Written for the Strictly Dramione Valentines Fic Exchange 2020**_

As You Wish

"'Ministry Muggle/Magical Valentine's Mixer'?" Hermione Granger screwed up her face as she scrutinized the notice on the lift wall. "What the _hell_?"

"Part of the new muggle appreciation initiative," Harry shrugged with a resigned sigh. "It's mandatory too. They announced it at our departmental meeting this morning."

"Oh for fuck's sake. Not more forced socialising. I can barely handle the weekly drinks thing. And there's a _theme_?" Hermione ripped the notice down to take a closer look, scattering tiny glittering hearts all over the floor as she and Harry exited the lift to the DMLE's floor.

"A theme," Harry groaned. "They didn't mention that! What are they torturing us with beyond the usual hearts and cupids?"

"'Come as your favourite romantic 'muggle movie' character or couple.'" Hermione read.

Harry groaned again. "Ginny is going to have a field day with this."

"Yeah it will be priceless to see what the purebloods come up with," Hermione snorted. "I mean, at least Ginny mixes with muggle-borns and half-bloods. But some of them... "

"Right. Like what's _Malfoy_ going to do?" Harry snickered. "He'll probably try to claim James Bond is a romantic hero."

Hermione lowered her brow. "Whatever he does, I hope it comes with a side of going and fucking himself," she said, tamping down an irritatingly compelling internal vision of Malfoy as Bond.

Harry heaved a small sigh. "What is it now? I knew I shouldn't have brought him up."

"He's just being a right prat about the closed case numbers." Hermione ignored the faint 'here we go again' from under Harry's breath. "I mean, I have _clearly_ closed more matters than he has this quarter and so am_ clearly_ winning the official competition _and_ the wager, but he continues to claim that the DuValle matter should only be counted as one case rather than the three it is obviously comprised of… AND I'm certain he used my coffee beans again this week. I smelled a very distinct aroma of Sumatran dark roast coming from his cup during case updates and as far as I know I'm the only one in the office who…"

"ANYway," Harry said loudly.

Hermione blinked, "what?"

"So what are you going as? Any ideas?"

"Harry, I only just now heard about it. And Malfoy- "

"What do you think I should go as!?" Harry sped his steps down the hall, sounding a little desperate.

"Erm, well. I'm sure I don't know," Hermione trotted to keep up. "Ginny will come up with something. Oh, you could be Harry!" she exclaimed, stopping and grabbing his arm. He gave her a look. "From _When Harry Met Sally_! You just need some pleated '80s trousers and a leather bomber."

"Ha. Ha."

"Ooh or maybe she'll make you be a Disney prince. You'd look great in a doublet and hose. Or a Beast mask. Or both!"

"Ha. Ha. HA. Anyway, _you_ have an easy option."

"What do you mean?" They stopped outside Hermione's office in the Prosecutors' wing of the floor.

"Your Halloween rig - from that fairy tale film you love so much."

Hermione snapped her fingers, "My Princess Bride Buttercup costume. Yes! You are a _genius_, Harry! I can definitely recycle that. I do enjoy making the least effort possible for these idiotic things." She shook her head and glanced down at the flyer again, "A bloody _Valentine's_ mixer. Kill me now."

"And then me." Harry turned to go. "Anyway, I'll see you Thursday at drinks, if not before."

"Right-o," Hermione waved him off as he continued down to the Aurors' section of the floor, then balled up the flyer and threw it in her rubbish bin.

❤️

"What do you have against the mixer, Granger!?" Blaise Zabini took a deep draught of his lager. "It'll be fun. And you of all people should be in full support of muggle appreciation efforts."

"What do I have...? Do you even hear yourself, Zabini? A Ministry-mandated Valentine's disco/networking/fancy-dress event? When we're all in our late twenties? It's _pathetic_!" Hermione punctuated her speech with a finger in Blaise's perfectly symmetrical face. "And besides, Valentine's Day is the worst holiday of the year."

A chorus of groans and 'oh come now's' came from around the table of Hermione's DMLE co-workers. The Prosecutors and Aurors had a standing date for Thursday after-work drinks and this one had had a good turnout.

"No, it's true!" she said, waving her third glass of rosé in the air. "I _hate_ Valentine's Day. It is a soulless and cynical corporate money-grab that makes Christmas look quaint."

A new round of protests erupted, but Hermione talked over them.

"It's the worst type of muggle import to magical culture. Yes, yes, I know," she put her hand up, "I'm ragging on my own. But it does nothing but put enormous pressure on people to make grand romantic gestures, buy gifts and flowers and stupid cards, while making others feel terrible because they haven't anyone to buy them for. And if you're in a relationship, it's inevitable that at least one partner feels obligated to go out - to some packed to the gills restaurant with run-off-their-feet waitstaff and a pedestrian three course, prix fixe menu marked up 50% because it includes a glass of shitty South African sparkling wine and a straggly red rose at one of the place settings! And I won't even get_ into_ the sexism that underpins it all. The whole thing infuriates me."

"You not get any cards this year, Granger?" Draco Malfoy's drawl sounded from behind her as he approached the table with a fresh round of drinks. Everyone broke into laughter.

"Fuck off, Malfoy," she said reflexively.

He raised a brow and dropped into the seat next to her, bringing a whiff of his annoyingly provocative scent with him. _Clean… yet spiced_? Hermione could never quite figure out what it was… She mentally shook herself back to the conversation.

"Although I do agree that no sane person should go out that night," Malfoy was saying as he passed out glasses. "Much better to stay in, cook, never leave the house, or better yet, never leave the bed…" he winked at Hermione and, without breaking eye contact with her, put his fist out to bump Blaise's. She rolled her eyes.

"So has everyone worked out their costumes?" Harry piped up from the other end of the table.

"I have some ideas," Blaise said with an enigmatic smile. A few of the younger girls from the secretary pool giggled. Hermione gave an exasperated snort of laughter - Blaise's good looks paired with his reputation as the Auror department's biggest risk-taker had given him quite a following.

"Ginny's got something in mind, but she won't tell me what it is," Harry said in a tone of doom.

"That could be bad, mate," Blaise raised his glass in Harry's direction. " Your woman is a terror. I say that with the utmost respect, but good luck." Harry lifted his glass in return.

"What about you, Granger?" Malfoy turned toward her on the bench and she was momentarily arrested by his proximity. _Why did he have to be so bloody good looking?_ It was something she'd been asking herself since Hogwarts days. He tilted his head and flashed a smile at her, "are you going to show up as a princess or an intelligent but misunderstood girl from a John Hughes film?"

Hermione sputtered for a moment, _how the hell did Malfoy know who John Hughes was?_ \- and then responded brilliantly, "wouldn't you like to know?"

He held her gaze, "yes, I would rather."

"Why?" Hermione had totally lost track of the rest of the table.

He put his elbow down and leaned toward her, his eyes alight with mischief. "So I can…" his speech broke off as a bangle-covered arm snaked around his neck.

"_Draco!_" An obviously pissed young witch slipped around and inserted herself in the small space between them to give Malfoy a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Hermione stiffened, feeling unaccountably hostile toward the girl, and instantly shifted to James from Accounting on her left - although she didn't miss the tiny flicker of annoyance that crossed Malfoy's face as she turned. _Whatever_, it was his problem if he let his parade of slags get in the way of normal conversation.

"Hello, Jilly," she heard his slightly resigned greeting before she turned her attention away and forced herself to laugh brightly at whatever James was saying.

❤️

"We can't submit this." Hermione walked into Malfoy's office the next morning and threw a thick document down on his desk.

He wheeled around in his chair and pushed up his sleeves, his eyes flinty behind dark-rimmed glasses. Hermione suppressed a sharp breath in. "Whyever not, Granger? My Arguments and Points of Law sections not up to your standards? I know it's the first brief we've worked on together, but I'm known to be rather skilled at writing them."

"No, they're fine," Hermione shook her head impatiently, "erm, quite good in fact." His brows went up. "But you have an incorrect case cite in Appendix C, section III, subsection b."

"Incorrect… subsection… _What_? Granger, you checked my cites? Do you not trust me at all? That's first year clerk level stuff."

"I _always_ check cites," she stalked closer to his desk, her hands sneaking to her hips. "And it looks like I was right to. You must have been out too late with Tilly last night. Lack of sleep make you sloppy?" _Shite, she had not meant to say that._

He looked up from flipping rapidly through the document and eyed her. "Jilly. And no, I was not out late with anyone." Hermoine snorted to hide the little surge that threaded through her at his words. "And this cite is not incorrect." He underlined the offending section so emphatically that the nib of his quill snapped off.

Hermione passed around to the back of his desk and leaned over the document, stabbing at the page with an emphatic finger. "It's _Robertson_ vs. Ministry, not _Robinson_, and the date of the case is 1826, _not_ 1862\. Really, Malfoy these are trainee mistakes. I expect a higher level of quality from you." She turned a faux-concerned gaze to his.

He stared back, jaw tight and eyes sparking with irritation. They stayed in that position for a beat and then two, during which Hermione realised that they were practically nose to nose. She could smell his good scent - and yes, that was her left breast brushing against his right arm. His eyes cut down to the point of contact for a split second and then flicked back up to hers. He swallowed and she felt heat flash over her face. Then she jumped and stood to circle quickly back around to the front of his desk.

He cleared his throat, then flipped the document closed. "You're wrong."

"What!?"

"You're. Wrong. That's a different case. I do concede that the facts are very similar and the names and dates are eerily similar, but the points of law in the Robinson case are more salient to our argument here."

Hermione blinked at him for several moments.

He leaned back in his chair and stretched, lacing his fingers behind his smug platinum head and smirking up at her. "Go look it up."

"I will," she ground out, "because I'm not submitting a brief with errors."

"You'll find that there aren't any," he called as she marched out the door.

She was so bothered that she ran smack into Accounting James as she stalked into the reference library.

"Whoa," he put his hands out to steady her, "on a tight deadline, are we?"

"Something like that," she muttered darkly.

"Hope you get it done by tonight!" he said with a smile. "Wouldn't want to miss the mixer!"

"Oh wouldn't I?" she grimaced as she yanked a book from the shelf.

❤️

"Hermione! Over here!" Harry waved to her from across the heart and flower-bedecked ballroom. She picked up the hem of her long red dress and crossed to where he was standing near the bar. He was wearing an oddly boxy grey muggle suit and seemed to have transfigured his hair into short salt and pepper style. His glasses were missing too.

"Harry who on earth are you supposed to…" the words died on Hermione's lips as she noticed Ginny walking toward her from the other direction. Her hair was slightly darker than usual and stood off her head in a huge mass of curls that made Hermione's more exuberant hair days look tame. Thigh-high patent leather boots ran up her legs and she was wearing a 'dress' that was more two scraps of fabric that barely covered her tits and arse joined over her middle via a cunning metal ring.

"Oh my god, _Pretty Woman_," Hermione breathed, cutting her eyes to Harry, who had started chuckling. "And the street-walker look too." Harry's chuckle turned into an outright laugh.

"Hermione, hey!" Ginny arrived and enveloped her in a huge, perfumy hug.

"Gin, you look…" Hermione took a deep breath and shook her head, "amazing."

"It's a bit over the top, yeah?" Ginny put her hand on her hip and posed. "But when in Rome…" she gestured to encompass the room, which revealed the fact that a lot of ministry employees had ardently embraced the theme.

Hermione was actually surprised at the level of accuracy and execution. She spotted Accounting James across the room looking like the lead from _The Wedding Singer._ There was Rose and Jack from _Titanic_. Bogie and Bacall in the corner and was that _Blaise_ approaching in a full Batman costume that left very little about his perfectly-formed physique to the imagination? Hermione squinted.

"Looking _good_, Weasley," he called, his masked gaze running up and down Ginny's scantily clad form as she preened.

"Watch it, Zabini," said Harry dryly.

"No offense, no offense…" Blaise held up his gloved hands.

"Blaise, how is _Batman_ a romantic movie?" Hermione asked, taking a glass of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter.

"Looking very pretty yourself, Granger. Red suits you and the blonde is a fun change." Blaise's white teeth gleamed against his dark skin. "And haven't you seen the first film? Bruce Wayne and Vicky Vale? Michael Keaton and Kim Basinger? Very romantic. Very hot." He stepped closer to her and widened his grin. "You here with anyone tonight?"

"Oh go try that on someone else, Zabini. Look, the secretarial pool are dressed as the cast of _Mean Girls_," Hermione waved toward the gaggle of scantily, pink-clad witches, "although I'd also argue that's more of a comedy than a romantic film…" she trailed off.

Suddenly Harry swore and said something that sounded like, "_That's_ going to be trouble."

"What?" Hermione looked up and followed the path of his gaze. Then she stared for a full ten seconds with her mouth open.

"What is Malfoy dressed as?" Ginny's voice cut through the haze of red that was permeating Hermione's brain. "Some kind of bandit? He looks bloody fit anyway."

"_The Dread Pirate Roberts_!" Hermione hissed.

"_What_?" said Ginny, looking utterly confused.

"It's a character from _The Princess Bride_." Harry said out of the side of his mouth. "You know, the same film _Hermione's_ costume is from?" Ginny's eyes widened as Blaise started to chuckle. "He's also her character's _love interest,_" Harry finished in a pained whisper. Blaise started really laughing and Ginny elbowed Harry, but Hermione barely noticed any of them. She was too busy shooting a look of death at the, the, copycat across the floor.

Suddenly she wheeled on Harry. "Did you TELL him?"

Harry's hands went up, "I swear I didn't," he said with a half-laugh in his voice. "Truly, Hermione. You know how I feel about dramatic scenes."

She spun back toward Malfoy, taking in his head to toe black ensemble. The fact that she was unable to keep herself from noticing how spectacular he looked in the mask, flowing top, tight trousers and tall leather boots just infuriated her further.

Hermione's intense glare must have triggered some instinct in him, because at that moment Malfoy turned from the Junior Auror he'd been chatting with and saw her for the first time. He froze briefly and then shook his head once, a wry smile lifting his lips. Hermione strode across the room toward him.

As she approached he threw his arms out and dipped into a low bow. "'What can I do for you?'"

"'You can die slowly, cut into a thousand pieces,'" Hermione snarled. He laughed. "Seriously, what the hell, Malfoy? Did you plan this?"

"Plan my costume? Yes."

"Plan to embarrass me!"

"_No_," he crossed his arms, all traces of amusement gone.

Hermione crossed her arms back at him, "This can't be just a coincidence. How did you figure it out? Did you hear me talking to Harry about it?"

He cut his eyes to the side and blew out a breath. "There are only so many romantic films, Granger. Especially decent ones with good fancy dress options. You don't own _The Princess Bride_. And why is this so embarrassing? I'm sure there are other overlaps. I've seen at least two _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ Audrey Hepburns here."

"Because people will think we did it on purpose!"

He stepped closer. "And would that be so terrible?" His voice was soft and Hermione felt her pulse speed as he looked down at her.

"I, I," she stuttered, caught in his silvery gaze, dramatic behind the black mask. '_Eyes like the sea after a storm...'_ But then a loud burst of laughter from the side of the room startled her backward. "Um," she blurted the first thing that came to mind. "How do you know so much about muggle film, anyway?" The words came out a bit more accusingly than she'd intended.

His soft look disappeared and Hermoine could swear she saw a disappointed frown flit over his features, but then the expression in his eyes turned bright and mocking again. "Blaise and I have a muggle film night once a month. Because we _like_ muggle films. Surprised?"

Hermione was extremely surprised, and if she was being honest, intrigued - the combination of which unfortunately seemed to rob her of speech right at that moment.

"You'll have to watch your anti-pureblood prejudices, Granger." Malfoy accepted what looked like a firewhiskey from a bowing waiter and turned to scan the room.

"_My_ prejudices?!" Hermione took refuge in her familiar annoyance with him.

His eyes flicked back to hers, and then away. "I think I see Blaise waving to me." His tone was brusque. "Catch up with you later, maybe? And I'll make sure to tell everyone you and I didn't plan this." He waved his hand between them, then saluted her with his glass and walked away.

A humiliating stain of red crept up Hermione's neck and her mouth opened and closed, although no sound came out. She stood stock still for a beat or two then gestured impatiently to the ether before stalking off herself.

❤️

Hermione was trying to listen to what Accounting James was saying (something about the cauldron smuggling case expenses?) but her mind was wandering freely. Well, if she was being honest, it was wandering in one direction; wherever Malfoy was at the moment.

He'd gotten under her skin earlier. She'd felt like a bit of an arse after their last exchange. _And_ he seemed to be on a mission to break a record for flirting with as many witches as possible in one night. He'd danced with Fiona, then Maeve (the Audrey Hepburn twins). Then she'd lost track of him for a bit, but next noticed him deploying his most charming smile - sans mask - on Renata, who was dressed as a mermaid, of all things. Hermione couldn't place the reference. Then he was chatting-up Gillian, who had an _Annie Hall_ thing going on. _Good costume_, Hermione thought grudgingly. _These purebloods had come through on the film knowledge way more than she'd thought they would_…

Inexplicably, each liaison had made her more and more irritated. Especially since Malfoy kept catching her staring at him.

And it bothered her that no one had asked her if they had planned their costumes together - even after a lot of people had gotten the film reference.

_Hmph._

After the last time he'd caught her looking, she'd told herself sternly to move on and find a distraction, which was how she had ended up lending half an ear to James.

"So I told them that was it, no more private portkeys!" he was saying. "Too expensive by half. The department can't support it." He shook his head gravely.

Hermione nodded. "Yars, completely agree," she murmured, her focus firmly fixed across the room where some tart - ok, it was reference librarian Roxanne - was laughing up into Malfoy's face and playing with the string that tied the placket of his blousy shirt together.

Hermione's jaw twitched and she frowned mightily - just as Malfoy looked in her direction. He raised his brows as if to say, "_again_?" but then his eyes flicked to James and she thought she saw a crease appear between them.

Hermione whipped her head away, annoyed with herself _and_ him.

"James, do you want to dance?" she practically shouted, startling the good-looking, but buttoned-down wizard.

His smile lit up his face, "yeah ok, Hermione." He put out his hand to lead her to the floor. Hermione suddenly realised that a very slow and sexy song was starting and she really hadn't meant to give him that impression. _Shite_. Too late now, though. She let him pull her into his arms, but tried to give off a friendly and casual vibe.

Then Malfoy and Roxanne moved onto the floor right next to them.

She was _still_ playing with his lacings. Hermione's eyes darted to the other witch over James's shoulder and rolled skyward. _If he liked dim, pedantic types who wore too much makeup, that was his business_. Malfoy caught the look and sent her an arched brow in return. She tore her eyes from his and redoubled her attention on James, laughing winsomely at whatever he'd just said. He laughed too and pulled her a little tighter._ Shite, what had he just said?_ She darted a glance back at Malfoy and was gratified to see a faint frown passing over his face again.

"So would you like to?" James was saying something again.

"Ahh, what? I'm sorry," Hermione sputtered.

"Go to the symphony next Thursday?" he asked. "They're doing a Wagner retrospective."

_Wagner?_ This had gone far enough. Hermione disentangled herself as the song ended, "Can I check my calendar and get back to you?" she smiled. "Just need the loo now…" He made a polite gesture and she scurried away.

❤️

Exiting the bathroom sneakily so as to avoid James, Hermione encountered Ginny, who was pissed, and Blaise, who was nearly there. They were talking about something called a 'chocolate cake shot' - a special they were serving at the bar - and although shots were totally beneath Hermione's dignity, she tried one to please them and then found it such a trick on her senses that she had one more.

Then Harry had come to get Ginny to dance and Hermione found herself in conversation with Blaise about his alleged muggle movie nights with Malfoy.

"I don't believe it," she said, giving him the fish eye. "You two really do this once a month? How many do you watch?

"Usually one or two," Blaise shrugged. "Muggle films are great. And it's not like there's a wizarding equivalent."

"Huh. Well, what are your favorites?"

"Off the top of my head? _Speed, Die Hard, Purple Rain_… Oh, and the first _Batman_, obviously," Blaise ticked them off on his fingers. "It's hard to say though. There are so many good ones."

"And what does _Malfoy_ like?" Hermione was still incredulous, but also very interested.

"Long walks, rainy Sundays in bed, good chocolate, the love poetry of John Donne…" quipped a voice from behind her.

She spun around. Malfoy seemed to have lost Roxanne, and Hermione was irked to note that up close and without his mask, he was even more arresting. She could now see that he'd transfigured his hair longer and that it was caught carelessly at his neck, like Westley's. And the pencil thin mustache stood out in stark relief against his molded lips. His eyebrows went up as he observed her inventory of him.

"Cat got your tongue, darling?" he asked, eyes sweeping over her face with a mocking glint.

Hermione felt a flash of hot anger. _He was toying with her_. He knew she found him bloody attractive in that costume.

"Muggle poets, muggle films?" she parried, trying for a careless affect, "whatever will you come out with next, Malfoy? Going to actually sleep with a muggleborn for the first time?"

His brow lowered and his lip curled. "Actually," he said, his voice like ice, "I've dated plenty of muggleborns. Just because none of them was you doesn't mean I don't partake." Hermione gasped and took an involuntary step towards him. Blaise, whom she had totally forgotten was standing there, mumbled something unintelligible and hurried away.

"Listen, _Draco_," she hissed, jabbing a finger into his stupid, blousy chest. Her movement seemed to attract attention and she noticed a few amused glances turn their way. She looked around in exasperation, then grabbed his arm and started towing him from the ballroom.

"My given name?" he was sputtering, "first time for everything, I suppose. Where are we going?"

Hermione pulled them through the doorway and into a corridor lined with doors. The first door she tried swung open to reveal what looked like an abandoned office - a desk and an empty bookcase its only furnishings. "Here!" she motioned him inside, muttered a silencing charm and slammed the door behind them.

❤️

"Are you implying that I want to date you?" Hermione rounded on him.

He crossed his arms and leaned against the desk. "I don't believe I said that, no."

"Because I'll have you know, I'm not one of your, your, _pathetic groupies_."

"You mean our esteemed colleagues and co-workers?" The flash of anger she'd seen on his face in the ballroom seemed to be giving way to amusement.

"Oh you know what I mean! The pissed girls in bars "oh, _Drayyyyco_," and all the witches who can't seem to keep their hands off your stupid romance novel cover blouse!" Hermione reached out and flicked the laces of his shirt placket.

His hand shot out and caught her wrist, "It's part of the costume, as you well know. And Granger," he crooned, "if I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous…" He pulled her forward - so close that they were almost touching.

"I am_ not_ jealous." Hermione said through clenched teeth. She could see the corner of his mouth twitching up and she longed with every fiber of her being to wipe that smirk off his smug, annoyingly attractive face.

So she did the only thing she could think of that would do it.

She reached up... and kissed him.

She could tell he was startled at first because his whole body stiffened and he dropped her hand. For a second she wondered if he was going to push her away - but then his arms shot around her and he hitched her tightly against him - one hand running up her neck and into her hair, and the other sliding around her waist. Her response to the embrace was instant and heated - she leaned into him, pressing with the full length of her body - and when his tongue moved against her lips, she opened eagerly.

This was a bit surprising because her admittedly vague plan had been to kiss him once; say something clever about not knowing what all those other witches saw in him; then walk away triumphant.

But instead she lost herself - to a wave of pure, potent lust.

Her palms swept up his back, enjoying the taut, smooth muscle there. Her fingers tangled in his hair, loosening his queue and running through its silkiness at his nape. His warm, clean scent enveloped her and his tongue was absolutely wicked as he angled her head and teased further into her mouth.

Eventually his lips left hers to trail down her neck and she said in a breathless whisper, "I'd never date you. I don't even like you."

"Don't you?" he was doing something devastating to her earlobe. "I like you, quite a lot."

"You _infuriate_ me."

"I inflame you." This muttered against the sensitive spot near her collarbone.

"You inflame me," she agreed, lost again.

When Hermione next came to awareness, she had his shirt out of his waistband and was running her hands freely over his skin, skimming her nails up his chest as he hummed low in his throat and pressed between her legs. Somehow their positions had become reversed and he had lifted her onto the desk. He'd also gotten the high neck of her dress unbuttoned and partially pushed down and was now placing a row of heated kisses down her neck to her bared shoulder.

"Your skin… you taste… _gods_ ..." His breath ghosted against her and everywhere he touched he trailed tiny licks of fire. Her hands spasmed on his waist and she tilted her head back, sighing his name as he eased her bodice down further so it pooled in a froth of crimson around her wrists. He groaned, "_fuck, Granger_," when he saw her matching red lace bra, then bent his head to her breasts.

She gasped, arching into him as he teased her there. "_Yes,_" she moaned, one leg sliding up and around him, pulling him closer as his hand left her wrist to catch the hem of her long dress and push it up her calf and thigh.

"I want you so badly," he breathed. "I've wanted you for so long."

"Yes," she sighed, completely abandoned. Lifting her gaze to his, she reached for his waistband. He gave a sharp gasp when he realized what she was doing. The gasp turned into a low groan once she got his flies open and her hand around his cock.

"_Fuck_, Hermione." He tilted his forehead against hers, motionless, ragged breaths hissing in and out of his mouth as she stroked slowly up and down his length.

And then he wasn't motionless anymore - his hands frantically dragging up her thighs, his fingers sliding under the hem of her knickers.

"Oh _god_," she moaned, rocking into his hand as he began stroking her. Her palm tightened around him and she picked up speed.

"_Gods_, I will fuck you right on this desk," he gasped, "All those times you stood over my desk chair, _scolding_ me for something. _Fuck_. Tell me if you want me to stop."

"Don't you dare stop," she panted.

"'_As you wish_,'" he muttered. She started to laugh, but her laugh turned into a gasp as he tore at her knickers and she shifted to help him get them down and off. Then she pushed frantically at his trousers and pants. She was so _fucking_ turned on and now his clever fingers were sliding over her clit, teasing at her entrance.

_"Please_, Draco," she sighed, her mouth open, desperate for him.

"Tell me you want me," he whispered, a dark thread in his voice.

"I want you, _god_."

"Tell me for how long."

"So long. Years." She could barely speak.

"Did you ever think about me like this?"

"All the. Bloody. Time."

He pulled back one last time to look into her eyes, his dilated and almost black. She met his gaze with a fierce one of her own.

He gave a sound somewhere between a moan and a growl then grasped her hips and thighs and pulled her toward him even as he thrust forward with one, powerful stroke. A strangled cry choked from her lips as she felt him fill her, the sensation exquisite. He pulled out and drove in again, dragging another cry from her throat. He eased out and in slowly one more - two more - times and then he seemed to lose his careful control. He began to move more quickly, and soon they were both gasping uncontrollably. She clutched at his arse, his hips, twined her legs up around his waist and tilted back, giving him deeper access. His lips ran across her neck, nipped at her collarbone and she lost herself completely to a feeling of pure pleasure.

Then the pleasure exploded in intensity, and she realised he had reached down to stroke her clit as he thrust into her. "God, god, _god_," she panted as she built toward her peak at breakneck speed.

"Are you close?" he gasped, "I'm so close, but I want to see you come first."

"YES," she hissed, bucking against his fingers and his perfect cock. Her 'yes' turned into a chant as the wave of pleasure built then shattered, and she cried his name. He followed soon after with his own wordless shout and then collapsed against her.

❤️

She was running the pads of her fingers up and over his shoulders when he finally spoke again, breathless, "my fucking _gods."_

She gave a shaky laugh in response, "indeed."

He drew back to look at her, his eyes warm silver. "That was not what I expected to happen when you dragged me in here."

"Me neither." She shook her head and began putting herself to rights, looping up various straps and sleeves and casting the necessary charms. "Although I _did_ want to teach you a lesson."

He snorted as he tucked in his shirt and ran his fingers through his hair, then looked down at her and tilted his head. "Actually, I'm afraid I may have failed to absorb your lesson properly. Might need further instruction in the near future."

She swatted at him and he laughed then leaned into her, placing a sweet kiss on her lips. She returned it with interest until he pulled away, his expression serious.

"You made it very difficult for me tonight, you know - to act like I didn't care. Like I wasn't watching you, wanting you," he murmured.

"You!?" she exclaimed. "I wasn't flirting with half the department!"

"No," he said, "just that one wanker. And I don't know if what I was doing actually counted as flirting since it was all just a put-on for you."

"Hmph," she unsuccessfully hid her pleasure at this statement. "You had me convinced."

"Did I?" his mouth quirked up, "I do have years of practice."

She pulled back to look into his eyes, a bit rocked by the confirmation that he'd wanted her for so long. He gave her a long look.

"Well good, because it's been the same for me," she said with a confessional sigh, "although I've been trying very valiantly to fool myself. And you."

"Yes, you've held your cards rather close to your vest," he smirked, tracing a light finger over her chest.

"Did you really have no idea?"

"Mmm, maybe a hint or two," he leaned down and then his lips were on her neck again. She could feel them quirk up as he inhaled deeply, "this scent…"

"Yes, your scent," she sighed. "And your glasses and your forearms and your smart mouth and your annoyingly correct case cites and your _arse_ in those trousers tonight and your gorgeous, gray eyes. Torture. All of it."

He was laughing softly, then he pulled back and his glance darted around the drab little room. "Gods, what a scene. This is not how I ever imagined this happening."

"You thought about this too?"

"Possibly. Few hundred times - give or take." He glinted a smile at her. "And strangely enough, we were never in some godforsaken ministry storage room. Nor were we dressed as fantasy film characters. Although I do have a bit of a Buttercup fetish, so this was nice." He flicked at the hem of her dress.

"And this was _extremely_ provocative," she ran her hand under the undone placket of his shirt.

"Although," he frowned and lifted a long blonde lock from her shoulder, "I never want you to change your hair again."

She laughed and twirled her wand over her head, muttering the spell to bring back her dark curls.

"Much better," he breathed, skimming his hand over them. She reached up to kiss him and they were occupied for several minutes.

He finally pulled back and sighed, looking delightfully disheveled - a curtain of pure platinum falling over his left eye. _She really did like him with that mustache too, mmm_. She swayed toward him again, but he stopped her, bringing her inner wrist to his mouth and kissing it softly.

"As much as I'd like to explore the outer boundaries of this roleplay and our newly admitted affection, we are in the said godforsaken ministry storage room. And I think the party is breaking up."

Hermione realised that yes, she could hear the sounds of people moving by outside - laughter and shouted goodbyes. She sighed, "you're probably right. And if we're spotted walking out of here together, after being closeted all this time…"

He straightened up and ran his palms over her shoulders and down to her upper arms. "What are your plans for tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow!? Actual Valentine's Day!? You know my feelings about it," she chuckled. "I usually do laundry and watch horror films."

"Sounds lovely, but would you like to come over to mine instead?"

"And - _what_ was it?" she tapped her lips, "stay in, cook, annnd... never leave the bed?"

"Well, yes. Especially that last part." The smile that spread over his features was absolutely lethal and Hermione reached up to place a light, teasing kiss on his gorgeous mouth.

"Then yes. Yes, I would."

❤️❤️❤️


End file.
